


CareBot

by wickedlore



Series: Drarry AUs [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Tragedy, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Gay Robots, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Smut, Robot/Human Relationships, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedlore/pseuds/wickedlore
Summary: Draco Malfoy is the son of the robot-making industry's hottest engineer and businessman. He's supposed to be perfect, but behind the curtains, he struggles with an eating disorder. When his father decides to bring a CareBot home to care for his son, Draco is reluctant. What would he do with an assistant? He has plenty of those. But as he becomes closer to the robot, secrets about his father's company and realizations about Draco's own emotions emerge.





	1. Part One

THE POISONING

     Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. For most, this is easy. Breathing is a natural instinct. For me, it is a chore. Oxygen is poisonous, scorching my lungs, eating me inside and out. I don't want it, and the same goes for for food. All of it is spider venom and cyanide made to look like honey, but no, I refuse to be fooled. I REFUSE IT-

THE AWAKENING

     My eyes feel as if they are glued shut. The room around me pulses a cold, hospital blue, causing my heart to have a fit. In a response, the machine beside me whines.

     "Hello?" I say, my eyes still shut. I can hear somebody moving beside me. They grab my hand, and I resist the urge to move away, my mouth going dry from the anxiety.

     "Draco, darling, it's going to be okay." Hearing my mother's voice should be a relief. However, it makes my shoulders bunch and my heart begin to sputter, causing the machine's whine to heighten to a screech.

     My mother quickly snatches her hand away. "Sorry, baby," she mumbles. "If you're worried about your father, he isn't here. He's still in New Angeles."

     "New Angeles?" I manage to ask, amusement warping my voice. "Wasn't he there a week ago?"

     I can almost hear her nod. "Yes, but AMIT called him back for a special case... something about a CareBot malfunction, I believe."

     There is a brief moment of silence, and as I speak, it feels as if there are cotton balls inside of my mouth. "...Mum?"

     "Yes, Dragon?"

     "I've never heard of a CareBot malfunctioning."

     "Of course not. It isn't something that they put in the news. After all, AMIT doesn't want people knowing about their slip-ups. I doubt people would accept CareBots if they knew how, er, _emotional_ the robots can get," she says lightly. However, the words irk me, and I can't help but open my eyes, and wrinkle my brow.

     "Robots can't be emotional."

     Ignoring the fact that I have only just opened my eyes, she inclines her head towards me and purses her lips. "Honey, I don't have time to explain to you how they can be, okay? I suppose violent would be a better word, but-" The rest of her sentence is lost to me, and everything is still before I slowly slip back into oblivion.

THE ENTERING

     Home is cold and sterile. To me, home is where I am happy, and so far, I have found no such place. For me, there is only misery, and though that may sound dramatic, it is true. Not once have I ever been truly happy.

     I think of that now as I stand in front of my stark, white house, glaring at the reflective windows, my mother's hand on my arm. This time, I don't flinch away. Instead, I brush her hand off, march into the house and practically run up the stairs, eager to be in my own room. There, I will find solace.

     Though my mother's voice echoes through the house, I quickly close and lock my bedroom door behind me. I then turn to look at my bookshelf.

     You may imagine a person's bookshelf to be filled with stories though up long before they can even remember. Undoubtedly, you see it as colorful, with journals in shades of maroon and novels the color of the night sky and series shifting from rich purples to heavy, emerald greens. However, my bookshelf has been the same as since the first time I got it, filled with identical black books.

     I am a writer, and so words are my sword. I breathe them, and I fight with them, powerfully. They are my sword, and I am proud of them. Strangely enough, though, as I stand there, I find myself unwilling to open up one of the journals and begin to write, with unnerves me. Even in the darkest times have I been able to spout out a book the same colors as a tropical sunset.

     Things are changing, I notice. Things will not be the same.

THE WELCOMING

     It seems an eternity until I hear my mother's knock on the door. At this period in time, rather than stand a bit away from the bookshelf, I am running the pads of my index and middle fingers along their old, cracked spines, inhaling the sweet scent of dust and ink. When I hear my mother walking up the stairs, for some reason, I find myself jerking away from the books.

     "Honey?" she says, her voice ambrosia. No. Vinegar. "The CareBot has arrived. Courtesy of your father."

     My stomach drops so suddenly I begin to feel light-headed. "Excuse me, what did you just say?"

     "I said-"

     "No, I heard what you said. I was being figurative. I meant, what do you mean by father sent me a CareBot?"

     I can almost feel her apologetic stare through the door, and it makes me want to cringe. "He thinks it's best if you have somebody — or something — watching over you at all times, even if that means we receive a CareBot. Don't worry, it's only until you're truly on your feet."

     "Well, I'm on my feet right now," I say sarcastically, and make no move to open nor unlock the door.

     I can hear her tapping her foot. "You know what I mean, Draco Lucius Malfoy. So, come downstairs this instant, otherwise we're keeping the CareBot until it breaks down entirely. Understood?"

     "Understood," I mumble back, and only wait a moment before leaving my bedroom. My mother gives me a knowing smile, and in response I shoot her a sneer, which makes that faux smile shift into a grimace.

     "Don't make that face at me, it's completely disrespectful," she snaps, but I refuse to respond. Instead, we trek downstairs to find an AMIT employee peering into the house. I feel a sharp pang of relief when I realize that it is not my father.

     My mother opens the front door, and the employee, with a CareBot by her side, cautiously enters the room.

     "Mrs. Malfoy, Young Malfoy," she says. Everything about her is cautious. The way she moves, the way she speaks, her appearance... it makes me want throw up. "My name is Pansy, and I am here to introduce you to your CareBot. His name is Harry, and he's one of our newer models. Harry, said hello."

     In a movement that is unnervingly human, the CareBot slowly looks up, it's bright, green eyes unreadable. "Hello," it says, and cocks its head in my direction. I refuse to acknowledge it, save for Pansy's brief introduction.

     My mother's frown dies, and is replaced with a glowing smile. "What a beautiful CareBot!" she exclaims, and when she steps forward to take a closer look, the robot seems to startle, moving quickly away from her.

     Pansy appears apologetic. "Apologies, Mrs. Malfoy," she murmurs, shooting an unreadable look at Harry. "He is made for interaction with your entire family and myself only, though it seems as if I have not coded you into his system correctly... he may be a bit skittish around you at first, but he'll warm up pretty quickly."

     The smile stays, but my mother's expression is now sour. "That's quite all right. Anyway, I have made a room of sorts in the closet directly next to Draco's room. Should we bring him there?"

     Pansy's lips thin. "I'm sure both Harry and Draco would prefer it if they could acquaint themselves further, as it is their first time meeting."

     "Oh... of course," my mother says, and with a gesture to attract everyone's attention, she draws us into the lounge, directing Harry and Pansy to sit on the first couch. My mother and I both sit on the one facing them.

     The robot looks as if it is studying it's hands as it speaks. "Mr. Malfoy said you enjoy humor, Draco, but judging from your body language, I find that difficult to believe," it says, startling me with its bluntness. "Your body language suggests you prefer more... mature things, such as chess."

     I smile humorlessly. "Chess is the most boring fucking game I have ever played."

     Pansy and my mother both visibly flinch, but Harry stays unnaturally still, raising its eyes to meet mine. Chills snake down my back, and I force myself to remember that it is just a CareBot.

     "Fun," it muses, sounding almost sarcastic. "Do you have any questions?"

     "Yes, in fact, I do." I lean forward. "How have CareBots been malfunctioning?"

     The robot doesn't skip a beat. "I don't have that information. Do you have any other questions?"

     I don't. However, as I stare into the CareBot's marble, soulless eyes, I begin to have a snaking suspicion that it is somehow lying.

THE SETTLING

     The next week is the quietest I have ever seen in Malfoy Manor. No servants, no PleasureBots, and no friends permeate the silence, letting the dreamy, baby blue fog settle over us. Harry is, surprisingly, rarely around for the first couple days. He remains in the shadows, always watching, always silent, my only alarm that he is there being the chills that kiss my neck like frostbitten fingertips.

     However, on this particular day, a Wednesday so insignificant to most that it is brushed off like a pesky fly, the murmurs begin once more in the house. The first PleasureBot glides in quietly enough, its doll-like features, the plushy lips parted into an oh and the over-large eyes gaping holes of emotionlessness, making me faintly uncomfortable. I can see Harry in the doorway at the corner of my eye, who is watching the PleasureBot intently.

     "Can you living dolls feel desire?" I drawl, inclining my head towards the CareBot. Its gaze settles onto me firmly.

     "I don't exactly know," it confesses. "I haven't had enough experience. You're my first client, yet I doubt you are going to be my last, so I have all the time in the world to discover if I'm a..." It goes silent, something I have never seen a robot do.

     The PleasureBot gives us each a small glance before moving silkily up the stairs, and I prowl closer to Harry. He blinks down at me owlishly. "So you can't... you know... fuck anybody?"

     "Well, we can," it says quietly. "But it isn't a matter of what I can and cannot do. Rather, it's what my client can or cannot do. Some clients receive therapy through sexual contact, whereas others receive it through conversational activities. It's all a matter of what is best for the client themselves."

     "So... you put others before yourself." The idea seems delicious — if only, however, I could have somebody to put myself before. Perhaps I can find somebody.

     "Yes. The only thing that matters to me is my client's health."

     I let out a snort. "That's depressing."

     "I suppose you can say that. But to me, it is very fulfilling. I am programmed to do just that, however... however..." It falters for a moment, but long and heavy enough for me to notice.

     "However what?"

     It blinks again, stares at me for a moment with those emotionless, empty eyes before moving for the staircase, leaving me quite furious.

     "That's not a way a client should be treated," I snap, drawing its attention. It pauses and glances back at me.

     "Please explain."

     "I asked you a question, and I expect you to answer. What were you going to say?" I demand.

     "I cannot answer a question to which I have no answer. Good afternoon, Young Malfoy. You are scheduled for a checkup with me tonight. Please be there with the shift I have provided for you, and is currently in your bedroom." It inclines its head towards me, and leaves, leaving me there to stress over the content of its words.

THE TALKING

     The shift I wear is uncomfortably translucent. I stare at my bare feet, with curling toes and a long, pulsing scratch along the side. Earlier that morning, I had been wandering my garden, tripped over a loose cobblestone, and tumbled into a rose bush that prickled with sharp thorns. I remember the blur of the creamy white and the velvet red before my head slammed against the pavement, leaving stars in my vision. Those white spots remain now, along with achy scratches and cuts all over my body, with ashy black creeping at the edge of my sight, but I ignore them as one would a mosquito bite.

     "Young Malfoy, can you please follow me into your bedroom?" Harry's voice cuts my thoughts off, leaving them hanging over an abyss.

     I blink once. Twice. "Hmm, I wonder what you mean by that..."

     "Exactly what I said." Dumbass robot.

     My lips twitching into a sneer, I follow it into my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind me. It motions for me to sit down on my bed. I settle down, cracking my toes by pressing them against the floor roughly.

     It glances at me, snapping on gloves. "Can you please drop your shift down to your waist? I need to check your abdomen."

     That makes me freeze. The thought of showing my chest fills my stomach with gray dread, and while my heart starts racing, I involuntarily let out a wheeze.

     "If you are concerned about my thoughts of your appearance, I can assure you that I was programmed to not have... have... opinions." And the stammering is back.

     "Th-that's not the problem," I manage to say, my head spinning.

     I half expect it to force me to strip down, but instead, it hands me a simple, pale blue pill. It's a cylindrical shape, with one, black stripe down the middle. I study it silently.

     "What is this?"

     "It will help you calm down."

     "Good." And, without any other words, I dry swallow the pill. The affect is almost immediate. My limbs go slack, and I am able to sigh deeply, my gaze dragging over to Harry.

     "Whatever this is, I need this every day," I joke, but the CareBot's frown tells me it doesn't understand. "Never mind. Just... I'll go on, I guess."

     I shrug the shift down to my waist, and watch Harry's expression. To my surprise, it looks almost sad.

     "You need to eat more," it says, its words heavy. "Your ribs are showing, and so is everything else. Your muscles have completely degenerated."

     High on the tiny, blue pill, I let out a laugh that sends a painful, wracking cough through my body. "No shit."

     It ignores my comment. "Okay, tell me if this hurts." When it presses a certain spot, the spots become fireworks, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hissing.

     Harry is quiet as it pokes and prods, most likely recording notes in that damn empty mind.

     "That's all over. Now, you need to show me your legs. Just turn around, and cup your genitalia if you would prefer."

     How unbothered it sounds faintly disturbs me, but the sense is soon awash with champagne tranquility. I turn my back to it, drop the shift and my boxers, and peer back. It has prowled closer, and is studying my thighs, prodding areas with its cold, gloved hands.

     The sadness and disappointment in its usually emotionless eyes deepens. I only recognize it for a second, before I am lost in induced bliss.

     "How bad is it?" I ask dreamily, turning my eyes to stare at the wall.

     It's silent for a moment. "Our next appointment is next week. I expect about four more pounds in your weigh in next week. Any less, and I will forced to be monitor you hourly."

     The thought should make me cringe, but my dreamy, high self wants to smile. And that's exactly what I do, even if Harry doesn't notice.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of CareBot, where Draco begins to realize some things about Harry as he is forced to spend time with it.

THE EATING

     My stomach growls, and though my hunger is of the body, it is not of the mind. The plastic-looking food looks so unappetizing that, when I look up at my mother, I am baffled by how she is carefully eating her golden rice. She catches my gaze.

     "Draco, you need to eat," she says quietly. I resist the urge to shoot her daggers.

     I make a little humming noise to show that I heard her, then I push my plate of food away with a trembling hand. "I'm done," I announce, and my mother scowls.

     "No, you're not. Eat the chicken, at least."

     When I glance at the chicken, I want to throw up. It drips with grease, the heavy, creamy sauce pooling beneath the meat. The skin glistens like an oil spill.

     "No, thank you," I murmur.

     "This isn't a question of what you want to do, Draco," she snaps, and I fall silent, unused to her anger.

     She began to show the crimson rage, as I like to call it, when I was first put into the hospital. At first, it was little outbursts; the occasional snap, a harsh word sent my way, a prickle at the back of my neck. But then, it got worse. I remember watching her fists ball beside her hips, the knuckles white with pressure, her eyes smoldering. She scares me, sometimes.

     "I know."

     "Then just eat the chicken, okay?"

     I am quiet for a moment. "Okay."

     But I just end up throwing it all up anyway.

THE WEIGHING

     This time, the slip Harry gives me is a pale red that could almost pass as pink. It's less transparent than the other one, like fogged glass, so that only the slightest suggestion of my legs is visible.

     As I wait for Harry, I pinch at the inside of my leg and sigh. Sometimes I wish I could just eat, especially one of those organic mangoes my mother used to buy for the family, but then I recall the slippery feel of fruit against my tongue and want to gag.

     "Please drop the top of your slip." Harry's voice is unusually quiet.

     I startle at the sound of it, and glance up at the CareBot, my eyes wide. It tilts its head, and frowns slightly.

     "I apologize, did I startle you?" it asks kindly, and I want to scoff.

     "No, you didn't," I grumble. Since when was I jumpy?

     However, right as I begin to grab at my slip, I hesitate, and glance up at Harry. "You... you wouldn't happen to have one of those pills that you had before, would you?"

     It cocks its head. "Unless you need it, I will not give it to you."

     I purse my lips, and try to take off my slip, but a sudden tremor that runs through my body makes me halt. When I exhale, my breath shakes.

     When I look back at Harry, the simple pill is in his palm. I grab it quickly and swallow, sighing as the honey high envelops me. The robot pinches at my skin. I jiggle my foot, trying not to squirm as the CareBot's warm - warm, how unusual for a robot! - hands skate across my skin.

      "Is it better?" I ask, and it doesn't respond.

      "Okay, I need to examine your legs, now."

      The examination is nearly identical to the one before. My skin begins to ache from its pinches, and I still resist the powerful urge to jerk away from him. It.

      "Please step onto the scale."

      When I do so, I can see the robot frown out of the corner of my eye, though the bliss, almost alcoholic in the way it warms me, cloaks my mind from questioning it.

      "I am afraid I will have to accompany you from now on," it says, that quiet tone back in its voice. "You have dropped half a pound since our last appointment."

      Delirium, half from the medication and half not, makes me furrow my brow. "But I thought that was the goal...?"

     "Go back to your room, and I will accompany you wherever you wish to go for the following two weeks." It dips its head slightly. "Good night, Young Malfoy."

THE LIVING

      Living is a subjective term. Though one may describe me as living, I would never choose that wording for myself. Surviving is a better term, though I am hardly surviving as it is. And when you aren't living, sometimes, it can be difficult to try to where a mask, to don a facade that, at this point, should be so familiar, but still fits like a too-small shoe.

      When my mother asks when I am going to start living, she is not asking when I am going to rise from the dead... well, not literally, anyway. She is asking me when I will begin to live life as it is meant to be lived again. But who decides how life is meant to be lived, anyway? We should be the ones to do that for ourselves.

      I am awoken that morning my Harry, who hovers beside my bed, avoiding my gaze. Or, I think it is. "Good morning, Young Malfoy," it says, its voice back to normal. Perhaps my observations from the previous day were from the medication. Speaking of the medication, maybe that's why I didn't care when Harry had said he had to supervise me like some sort of child.

      I don't respond, and roll over to direct my back towards it. I can almost hear it sigh, if it could.

      "Mrs. Malfoy stated that you are to tend to the roses in the garden today, though I informed her that that would be unwise, due to your condition." It pauses.

      "Let me guess, she insisted I do so anyway?" I ask, my voice a low growl.

      "Yes, she did. However, I think it would be better to have you play your piano. Music therapy is another type of therapy that I was trained to do."

      I exhale through my noise, frustrated. However, I'm not stupid, therefore I do realize that it would be wiser if I followed the robot's directions. So, I begrudgingly roll out of bed and begin to head for the music room without changing.

THE PLAYING

      The music room is a long, rectangular room outfitted with more instruments than I know the name of, with a floral smell so strong it makes my eyes burn and my nose itch. The walls are a faint, faded pink etched with pastel roses that are reminiscent of a past better of forgotten, while the floors are white wood polished to gleam.

      Inhaling the reeking flower scent for a moment, I then sit down at the closest piano. It's mahogany, with gorgeous, shiny keys that are hardly used and pedals that are a bright gold. It is old fashioned, one I haven't seen in seemingly a million years.

      Harry seems to recognize the faraway look in my eyes, because it says, "You are thinking of the past, aren't you?"

      I nod slowly. "Yes."

      Then, I begin to play. The music at first is tentative, pastel yellows and icy blues and mint green whirling together in hesitant notes, before my confidence begins to inflate. My fingers skate across the keys, darkening the colors to a rich sapphire and emerald green and dandelion yellow. The melody is beautiful. It is one my mother used to play for me when I was young, in a time when her fingers were used to the difficult chords and her voice could go higher than one could possibly imagine.

      Now, her voice is raspy with the use of cigarettes, which by some miracle have not yet been banned, and her fingers unused to the ivory keys.

      As my mood deepens, so do the colors. Sapphire becomes navy, emerald forest green, and dandelion brass, until the emotions the song portrays are ash and soot. Though the melody is meant to be sad, instead, it comes out angry.

      Throughout all this, Harry is silent. It watches my fingers, seemingly mesmerized, though I chide myself that a robot cannot truly express interest nor value the intense or satin emotions that a song portrays... right?

      The though makes my fingers pause. The CareBot gives a jerk, then straightens, its mechanical eyes unreadable from where I crane my neck.

      "It is a nice song," it says monotonously, avoiding my gaze when I try to meet its heavy stare.

      Then, at that moment, I cannot help but become irritated with the unexpressive being. As volcanic anger wells up inside me, I slam my hands onto the piano, failing to draw a reaction from Harry.

      "So that's just it, then?" I snap, my emotions blurred.

      It blinks. "I'm not sure what you mean."

      "So you don't have emotions, you cannot show appreciation for any type of art? You just give out mindless compliments, unknowing of their actual heaviness, and expect me to take it like a champ?" I stand up, the bench screeching against the floor as it slides behind me to slam against Harry's legs. The robot stumbles, and for a moment I think I can catch a flash of panic in its eyes before it rights itself.

      Its voice is mild as it speaks. "I was programmed to-"

      "I don't care what you were programmed to do!" My fists ball at my side, my anger bubbling of my mouth. "What are you actually?" I grab its shoulders and, with great, marching steps, slam it against the wall, our noses brushing. It stares at the floor.

      "You are not permitted to use physical force against a CareBot, for I am required to contact an actual medical physician," it says meekly, and yet, makes no visible move to contact anybody.

      When it occurs to me what I just did, I feel a pleasant shock go through my system. I am not used to being stronger than another person.  _Thing_.

      "You know what? I don't care. Do that, if you insist," I say. "But, I know you're not as emotionless as you seem." I jab a finger into its chest, fuming. "I'm nor stupid. I see when you feel uncomfortable, shy, or upset. I don't know how, but I will get to the bottom of it, _Harry_."

      If a robot were capable of getting goosebumps, I think Harry would be prickling of them. It hardly moves, but I can see its foot tapping against the floor out of the corner of my eye.

      Then, suddenly, when it makes eye contact with me, its green eyes sparking, my body fills with a strange combination of warmth and cold, the sensation pleasant, strangely enough.

      "You will find," it says softly, removing my now limp arms from its shoulders, "that occasionally, we robots aren't what everyone makes us out to be. Now, come on, it is time for dinner."

      It straightens, and, without glancing back, waltzes out of the room, and I follow.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Harry and Draco's relationship deepens, Draco begins to realize some things about his father's company and acts accordingly.

THE THAWING

     Lately, my emotions have engulfed me. Strange ones. Whenever I catch Harry's gaze, those eyes the color of the forest that borders Malfoy Manor, my face goes hot, as if I have just been caught playing Peeping Tom. I always have to remind myself that that gaze is glass.

     Lately, my icy heart has begun to thaw, but I have yet to realize why.

     Beside me, my mother taps her foot repetitively against the marble floor. The sounds carries up to me, half igniting the flame of irritation in my chest, half making me warmly nostalgic for the days before the visits to the hospital. Before my father was never home. Before Harry.

     Said robot sits on my other side, watching me out of the corner of its eye. I refuse to make eye contact, half to save me from humiliation, half because I have begun to also feel a sense of intense want whenever I see his -- its -- chiseled face. I have yet to discover what, exactly, my heart is yearning for.

     As for why we are sitting at the table, that is a mystery. My mother's stare drifts back to me.

     "Draco, darling," she begins, her voice like sandpaper. "Your father is coming home in a week, and I expect you to have made visible improvement by the time he arrives."

     Immediately, Harry cocks its head. "Mrs. Malfoy, that is not wise-"

     "I do not care." she interjects. The group sits in silence before the CareBot raises its voice once again.

     "I advise against such a request. The results could be devastating to Young M-Malfoy's body and mind, as gaining weight so rapidly is dangerous."

     My mother ignores the stammer. "I will request another CareBot if you do not comply, Harry, as this is what I require. My son must look healthier. I cannot have my husband seeing him as the twisted, ugly wraith he is."

     I flinch back at her remark, but dare not speak.

     I half expect Harry to accept my mother's threat. Instead, it cocks its head once more, its frown deepening. "I will remain." Its voice is almost a mumble.

     Then, without hesitating, it stands, casting a look towards me. "Well, Young Malfoy, I suggest we go walking in the garden. Such activities strengthen the body and the mind."

     Desperate to escape the situation, I dart out of my chair while ignoring the pain in my muscles, leaving my mother behind in the quiet.

THE WANTING

     The peculiar emotions return once we enter the serenity of the garden. Around us, the only noise is the song of a mockingbird and the careful buzz of bumblebees. We are immediately met by the aroma of jasmine. It billows around us like a sensual cloud, a drug. I close my eyes and inhale deeply before strolling to the maze.

     The maze is a rather large series of hedges constructed by my aunt when I was only five. It writhes around the entirety of our land like a snake, the emerald hedges dotted with flowers such a bright yellow they remind me of the sun.

     Harry seems to pause as we enter the maze, but I brush it off. As we walk, the cool shadows cast by the brush caress my shoulders, almost sexual in nature. The thought makes my stomach leap.

     In order to escape such wonderings, I push deeper into the maze. Here, the ground is not only sheltered by the hedges but the trees that loom above us. They are evergreens that smell of Christmas and whispering trees blooming with vermillion blossoms.

     Eventually, when the sun has moved farther across the sky, we reach a small clearing that marks the halfway point. In the center, a marble wall with deep red veins that remind me of blood stands like a beacon. The purpose of it was once a waterfall; but no longer. The water has long since abandoned its prison, instead creating a weak stream that snakes across the grass and beneath one of the wilder hedges.

     I wander towards the wall. It is clean and shines as such, the dried spout way up top hissing weakly. I fight the urge to shield it with my hand.

     When I glance over at Harry, who watches me with an unreadable expression, I am hit with such a powerful wave of desire I stumble and hit my back against the wall. Harry frowns, and walks towards me, its -- his? -- fingers drumming against his thigh. Strange.

     "Are you alright?" it murmurs, not meeting my gaze.

     My heart begins to race. "Yes," I gasp, blinking rapidly.

     He moves close enough that if I moved my hand slightly, we would tough. The thought makes my face burn like a star.

     He twists his head in the way that he has done since the first week. "What?"

     I lose control. I grab his shoulders and make eye contact with him. When he nods, I swing him around, slamming his back against the marble wall. His eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing. I lean so close our noses touch.

     "I'm sorry," I practically beg, my grip on his shoulders tightening. "Can you promise me that whatever we do from now on will not be therapy?"

     His eyes screw shut. At that moment, I recognize the fact that most of the gestures he has exhibited are irregular for any robot: the finger drumming, the hesitating, the avoidance of eye contact, the heavy blinking...

     He hesitates, then smile softly. "I... yes."

     And then, I press our lips together. I expected him to taste like nothing. Instead, his mouth, warm and soft as a human's, tastes sweet, like ice cream. I can feel him relax as I deepen the kiss.

     Almost cautiously, his hands move from his sides to my back, tracing circles across my skin before moving to grip my hair. His fingers dances across my head, sending prickling sensations down my spine.

     Harry suddenly switches our positions so my back is against the wall. When we separate for a moment, the look in his eyes is human-like desperation and lust, and I know that if he were actually human, his face would be red. But that doesn't bother me at the moment.

     Our mouths seek each other out like a lock and a key. His knee slides between my legs, and I let out a little gasp, my hands darting from his shoulders to bunch his uniform white shirt.

     When my left hand slides down to finger the waistband of his jeans, he hesitates.

     I frown, looking up at him with eyes blurry from lust. "What?"

     Again, that hesitation. "It's just... everything I know about this type of thing is programmed. Would you like me to use that programming...?" His sentences falters.

     Then, quickly, he jerks away and stands up, straight as a rod.

     "Excuse me," he says, his voice monotonous as he straightens his shirt. "Let us go back to the house. Your mother must be worried."

      Before I can point out that there's no possible way she would be worried, he has moved out of sight.

THE CHECKING

     My next checkup occurs the following evening. After the incident, Harry has gone back to avoiding my gaze, his shuttered. I never realized how talkative he was until he fell into silence.

     The shift this time is a pale yellow, and softer than the other ones. I ignore the fact that it has floral print. Harry sits me down, and, like always, instructs me to remove the top of the shift. This time, however, when he offers me the little pill, I shake my hide.

     The shutters rise from his eyes for a moment to reveal pleasant surprise. "Why not today, Young Malfoy?" he asks.

     I shrug, picking at the hem of the shift. "I don't feel like it."

     Immediately, I drop the top of the shift. As he pokes at the area around my exposed ribcage, I ask, "So, do robots have nerves?"

     His hand stills for a moment before he continues his work. "Yes, of sorts. We can actually feel more intensely than the average human." He pauses, blinking rapidly. "At least, that's what our creators say."

     I lick my lips, my gaze drifting down to his pants. "Oh... so can you feel it if I do this?"

     I reach down and slide my hand along his abdomen. This time, he doesn't stop me, his eyes fluttering. I then slide my hand behind his waistband, touching warm skin, his breaths becoming heavy. I hardly touch him. However, still, he has already grown hard.

     "I... I can feel, yes," he gasps, throwing his head back.

     I watch him carefully, then remove my hand. "That's funny. You're so emotional for a CareBot."

     His eyes are shielded from my view as he speaks, his voice husky. "I am a new design. We... us... we're the most human robots to ever exist. We feel emotion. We have every sense that humans have, and more. Therefore, it is inevitable that there have been... well... problems."

     "What sort of problems?" The whip of déjà vu hits me.

     Harry hesitates. "We must continue the examination."

     As he moves forward to check my sides, I grab him through his pants, watching as he swallows thickly.

     "You were so _excited_ when we were in the maze yesterday, as you are now." I imitate him by cocking my head. "Why don't you let yourself lose control? If you are just like us, almost like us, let yourself lose control." When he doesn't respond, I raise my voice. " _Let yourself lose control_!"

     He slams me down on the bed and straddles me, lowering himself so that his breath tickles my face. My heart begins to race. Harry stares at me, his breathing just as fast, if not faster than mine.

     "I've wanted to lose control so badly from the first time you tested my patience," he whispers, pressing his lips to my neck.

     I writhe as he brands me with his teeth, leaving plum blossom bruises in his wake. He drags his mouth downwards, sitting up momentarily to tear off my shift before placing his lips in the spot where my heart is. He removes himself to tear off his own shirt, and I help him with his strange, white pants until we're both bare, revealing ourselves to each other entirely. His gaze, as it travels along my body, is so intense it feels physical.

     He looks awed. "I've seen you a million times," he says, placing a hand on my chest. "yet I have never realized how beautiful you truly are until this moment."

     I cannot help but laugh. "Oh, please. I'm all skin and bones."

     "I'm referring to you. Not your body, but you. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met." His eyes are owlish, full of wonder and beauty.

     I put on a faux scowl, my face twisting playfully. "Are you saying you don't like how I look?"

     For a second, he looks mortified. "No. Wow. You have the most wondrous eyes, and your hair... and that look you always have in your gaze, so determined, like you want to do something dangerous." He then pinches my side. "You need to start eating more, though. You've gained some weight in the past week."

     When I recognize the look on Harry's face as pride, I let my face relax into a smile. "I'm trying."

     He leans closer so that our noses brush against each other. "Good."

     And together, we are lost in sensation, his tongue against my thigh, his lips on mine, him inside me, and our souls — for now I'm sure he has one — combining.

THE RETURNING

     If my mother has noticed that Harry and I are always together now, she doesn't say a word. Instead, as we stand all together at the entrance of Malfoy Manor, waiting for my father to return home, she is quiet, her hand trembling as she raises it to put her cigarette against her lips. Some horrible, human habits never die.

     When the door slams open, I startle, and am relieved when it's just a child carrying one of my father's suitcases. A child? And then, I remember; my father had called my mother to tell her that he was bringing home an adopted son, and not to be stressed if she saw him. Though, as I see him repeatedly coming in with more bags, I begin to worry the purpose of the child.

     When he finally puts down the final bag, he comes to my side and looks up at him. I startle at his appearance. He is quite strange looking, with overlarge ears and owlish eyes the color of peridot. His head is buzzed, but I can see that his hair is a pale brown that borders on blonde.

     He nods his head at me. "Hello, I'm Dobby, sir. One of the abandoned children, sir."

     Immediately, I feel sympathy for the child. The abandoned children are not what you may imagine them to be. They are children younger than ten who were orphaned by the war in America, and sent to Great Britain to be adopted by the rich. However, rather than arriving to luxurious lives, instead they are often met by servitude. The thought makes me feel ill.

     My mother looks up, and I follow her gaze. My father, wearing a rather theatrical black trench coat and an emotionless smile, enters the room, not giving Dobby a second glance. He goes straight to my mother.

     "Hello, Narcissa," he says slipperily, and kisses her cheek. His gaze then slides to me.

     He looks me up and down, his lips curling back every time he does so, his fingers curling into a fist.

     "You look weak," he announces, and I blush furiously, but don't respond. I can see Harry give me a worried glance out of the corner of my eye.

     He then looks at Harry, his expression shifting from disappointed to disgusted. "CareBots," he spits on the ground, not even watching as Dobby rushes to clean it up.

     My father rushes away to his office, Dobby skittering after him, and I watch as my mother's hands begin to shake. She says something beneath her breath.

     "What?" I ask, but she only shakes her head and leaves as well.

     At that moment, I am alone with Harry. He makes eye contact with me. "Your father will not be very helpful for your recovery," he points out.

     I nod hesitantly, staring at the now closed door of Lucius Malfoy's office. "Trust me, I'm aware." I then pause, glancing back at Harry. "I'm up for a movie, if that's okay. Oh, hell, of course it's okay. Come on." I grab his hand and drag him upstairs, towards the theater.

     I want to get high off of the splashes of vibrant color onscreen, I want to get drunk off of old cartoons. But I don't voice any of this aloud.

THE WATCHING

     I pick a classic, an old story about a wall of thorns, and a handsome prince that dons a red cloak, and a silent princess who wears a gown of sapphire and a pink the same shade as the transparent petals of a petunia, and a magnificent dragon with eyes the color of summer fields. The moment the credits begin rolling at the beginning of the film, Harry looks entranced; he stares at the screen as if he's watching somebody he loves.

     I quirk a brow at him where he sits beside me. "I'm assuming you haven't watched many movies."

     He startles at my voice, his gaze darting from the screen to me. "Where I was made... we didn't watch television."

     "Depressing." I snort.

     He offers me a sad smile in response. "I suppose that yes, it is sad."

     Together, we watch in silence as a series of richly colored, textured scenes slide across the screen, delicate and sharp all the same. As a scene picturing the forest of thorns rolls on, I glance at Harry. He stares at the movie, rose blossom lips parted, his emerald eyes wide.

     When my jeans begin to tighten, I clear my throat and cross my legs, drawing the CareBot's attention.

     "Are you comfortable?" he asks politely. I nod slowly.

     "Yes. Yes I am."

     However, as the scene progresses, it becomes clear that I am not at all uncomfortable. For the nth time, I shift my legs. Harry finally fully swivels towards me.

     "Are you comfortable?" he repeats, and as I feel my face deepen with a blush, I recognize the look of want in his stare.

     He presses his lips together and, without a single glance at the screen, leaves his seat and straddles me, forcing me to uncross my legs. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut. When he discovers why I was shifting so often, a grin curls on his face so unlike anything I'd seen from him previously.

     "So, you are uncomfortable," he says, and rolls his hips once.

     I throw my head back against the faux leather seat and focus on breathing. Harry is light, lighter than I had expected — earlier robot models his size could weigh all the way up to four hundred pounds, whereas he is light and slim as a feather, but heavy enough to trap me beneath.

     Harry leans forward entirely so that his face is buried in my neck. He begins to roll his hips, over and over and over, until I am brimming with ecstasy. However, realizing I am almost at my end, he leans back, and watches me carefully.

     I feel a strange feeling at the pit of my stomach, a combination of irritation, admiration, pleasure, and a warm, tingling sensation I cannot yet give name to. "Yes?" I say cautiously.

     He smiles softly, and places a gentle, tender kiss on my lips. Rather than the rough passion that I am used to feeling, the gesture brings a waterfall of what I can only describe as pure love upon me. So, that is the feeling I was feeling previously.

     But I do not say so. Instead, I kiss him back just as sweetly, and lose myself in his velvet touch and the soundtrack of the movie about the silent princess and her scarlet prince.

THE STUDYING

     Once we leave the theater, both of our sweaters tied around our waists in order to hopefully disguise the messes, at the top of the stairs I catch Harry with a goofy smile on his face. Suddenly, a question hits me.

     "Harry?"

     "Yes?" His voice is raspy.

     "How can robots feel emotion, if they're machines?"

     Abruptly, all motion stills, save for his head. He turns it towards me. On his face is an expression of utter thought and confusion.

     "I'm not exactly sure," he says after a moment. His tone is strange. 

     My eyebrows raise in surprise, and I grab his hand, rubbing my thumb over the top of it in thought. "Really?"

     "Yes, really. I suppose that the creation of a robot's mind, at least, my model's mind, allows emotion so deep that it can destroy.

     "Destroy..." I murmur to myself.

     "Yes. The new model, such as I, we're having problems with our emotions. If the first of all models was too emotionless and apathetic, we are the exact opposite. There are reports of my kind — well, to put it into understandable terms, dying from emotional stress. When I was still at the factory, the creators taught us that if we start feeling overloaded, we must contact them immediately." He hesitates, then leans closer and lowers his voice dramatically. "Clearly, I have not reported anything of the sort. This sort of emotion, I believe, is not something that needs to be terminated. It is beautiful."

     After sharing a satin moment, sending loving smiles at each other, we begin to head downstairs to the dining room for dinner, our hands separating once we get to the ground floor. Just as we are about to enter the dining room, Harry stops.

     "D-Draco, you must know; your father was — is — the one eradicating emotions from us. Be careful around him. Promise me that, at least."

     "I promise," I whisper, and we enter the dining room. However, instead of seeing my mother, my father, Dobby, and food, instead, we just see my father standing at the head of the table.

     "Draco," he says coldly, and inclines his head. "CareBot, leave. I must talk to my son in private."

     Shooting me a secret, worried glance, Harry leaves the room, leaving me alone with my father. Said person then strides towards me and tears of my shirt, studying me with a critical eye.

     I scramble away. "What the fuck?!"

     He hardly makes eye contact with me, but comes closer, prodding the area around my ribs. And instead of responding to my question, he says, "Clearly, that _nurse_ isn't working. You've gained how many pounds?"

     "Fifteen," I whisper, and he frowns disapprovingly.

     "Disappointing."

     "But, that's all that's safe-"

     "Shut up," he growls, and I flinch back. "You know what? I'm getting you a new CareBot. One of the older ones. This one's clearly not proper mechanically."

     I cannot disguise my gasp. "What?"

     "You heard me. Go to your room, Draco." Suddenly, he looks extremely tired. "That CareBot is leaving tomorrow night."

THE FLEEING

     In books and movies, they often say that escape plans must be well thought out. Mine isn't. I rush from the dining room and upstairs to Harry's makeshift room, where he undoubtedly is. When I burst in, he startles.

     "What's wrong?" he asks immediately, as if sensing how fast my heart is beating from panic.

     "My father. He's sending you away tomorrow," I say, and Harry looks shell shocked.

     "What?"

     "Yes! We need to go! Grab everything and we'll be off-" Just as I turn, he grabs my arm, the lines around his lips sharp.

     "Have you even thought this out?" he asks calmly, but his fingers drum against his leg anxiously. "And, even so, it... it isn't..."

     Then, his lips begin to quiver. His eyes widen, and he sits with a thump down on his bed, covering his mouth. "I can't," he croaks.

     I don't have time to marvel how a robot can cry. "You can't what?"

     "I can't even pretend to say that I would be okay with Mr. Malfoy sending me back. Go, pack your things and hurry!" The last part is hoarse.

     I rush out of the room and to my bedroom, grabbing a hiking bag and shoving as many clothes, toiletries, and books into it as I possibly can. After I'm done, I turn around only to face Dobby standing at the doorway.

     "Take me with you," he whispers, his voice shaky. "I'll do anything."

     I readily agree with a nod, and we both run out of the room, Harry directly in front of us.

     "Be quiet," I hiss at them both. We're almost silent as we pad towards the doorway. However, just as I am convinced that we've escaped, my father emerges from his study.

     His face drains of color. He raises a shaking finger towards Harry, and spits. "You!"

     "Run!" I yelp, and we burst out of the door, running across the driveway. My blood goes cold as I hear the click of a gun behind us.

     I whip around, and yell, "Don't do-"

     The sound echoes through the clearing. My breath escapes my lungs, and my eyes widen, my hands shaking violently.

     No.

     Beside me, the little boy, but a child, is soaked with blood, his knobby hands held over his stomach. I feel sick as I drop to my knees beside him, and Harry does the same, even as my father comes running down the driveway.

     "Run," the boy wheezes, and we pick him up, hurrying him down the driveway.

     But I know Dobby is already gone. Behind us, my father fires three other shots. The first goes wild, careening into the trees around Malfoy Manor, but the second grazes Harry's arm. He hisses in pain, but we keep running.

     The third shot, however, does not miss nor graze. It punches me directly in the back. I fall forward, landing hard over Dobby, while Harry lets out a cry.

     Immediately, I know our efforts were in vain. We were foolish.  _I_ was foolish. 

     Harry leans down and grasps my hand with quivering fingers. "I want to tell you a secret," he whispers, as my father slows to a walk along the driveway.

     I can't speak, but I nod to show that I am listening.

     "We robots, we can feel because we're human. We're not — we're just like you, just made to look otherwise," his voice is growing desperate as my father nears. "I don't want us to die, Draco, oh my God-"

     Around me, the world goes dark.

THE BEGINNING

     The world shakes. I open my eyes groggily, but all I see is white mist, though the air around me is cold and dry as death. When my vision finally clears, I see that I am laying on a cold, metal table, the lights above me blinding.

     I finally realize that the world isn't shaking, but I am. Taking deep, wheezing breaths, I squirm to see if I can feel the bullet in my back. Nothing.

     My body feels alien, as if it isn't mine. Ahead of me, I recognize the shape of a television. It flickers on. And though it is in black and white, I can see the image of my father clearly.

     "First lesson," he begins, the audio tinny. "you are not who you think you are, but someone else entirely..."

     Feeling strangely numb, I raise my hand, a cool shock going through me as I realize I am not wearing skin but clean, foggy silicone. When I curl my hand into a fist, I can see the metal structure of a hand beneath the silicone.

     Suddenly, Harry's last words come back to me.

_"We robots, we can feel because we're human. We're not — we're just like you, just made to look otherwise."_

     And so, the first thing I do is open my mouth and let out an earsplitting scream.


End file.
